


The Unfortunate Incident With The Swamp Witch

by stevergrsno (noxlunate)



Series: Oh What A Strange Magic [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Magic, Magical Realism, Swamp Witch - Freeform, Witch Steve Rogers, Witches, though we might be straying from the magical realism and into straight up magic with this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 15:25:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15643560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlunate/pseuds/stevergrsno
Summary: “I insist Steven. You can’t just help an old lady out and not allow her to make you dinner.” Old Lady Strudwick says and Steve can’t not focus on the words ‘make you dinner.’Aka Freshman In College and Witch With A Green Thumb Steve Rogers is conned into helping a little old lady who might or might not want to eat him.





	The Unfortunate Incident With The Swamp Witch

**Author's Note:**

> Idk guys I was thinking about how Steve found Rufus in It's A Kind Of Magic and this happened. 
> 
> This little romp was written in like a half hour and I'm throwing it up right away, therefore it's unedited and unbeta-ed as heck.

The thing is, the crux of the matter is, that Steve Rogers has always had a big heart. His mother had told him that until the day she’d died and it’s held true even in the years following. It’s why he can’t possibly say no when Old Lady Strudwick begs him to come help her with her garden.

She offers him ten bucks and all the lemonade he can drink and he wishes that that sounded even remotely tempting compared to the nice cool library at school and studying for his impending finals.

He says yes, because he’s Steve freaking Rogers who can’t turn down a little old lady even when he’s still attempting to adjust to being in _college_ and balancing a full course load plus a part time job at the nursery.

Old Lady Strudwick smiles when Steve agrees, wide and a little sharp and if Steve thinks he sees something odd flash behind her eyes then he doesn’t pay it any mind. He has _too much_ to do to dwell on that particular issue.

 

When Steve arrives at Old Lady Strudwick’s house in Nowhere, New Jersey he realizes that the odd flash in her eyes was quite possibly the fact that she’d managed to dupe the fuck out of lil ol’ Steve Rogers.

The yard- if it can even be called a yard and not a _swamp_ or a _marsh_ or a _terrorfest-_ is huge. Every square inch of it is crowded with plantlife and - jesus christ is that _bubbling?-_ pockets of what Steve tries to convince himself is not some sort of sentient swamp life attempting to take over. Her house, a rounded, stooped, old building that could be called a shack if one was feeling generous, sits atop four posts, rising up out of the yard- _swamp._

It appears to be being eaten by the plants around it, ivy and moss and something Steve can’t and doesn’t want to identify crawling up the walls and along the roof.

It’s _a lot._ A lot more than any one witch should be able to handle and Steve can’t help the heebie jeebies the whole place gives him.

Before he can turn tale and run however, Old Lady Strudwick has descended down the front steps and is leading Steve into the house in what feels like a whirlwind.

“Steven, dear, thank you for agreeing to help a poor old lady out.” She says, her words always sharp with an accent Steve can’t quite pick out, her hands gnarled and fingers long as she squeezes at Steve’s shoulder in thanks. At least Steve thinks it’s thanks, it’s surprisingly hard for such an old lady.

“It’s- Uh, it’s no problem.” Steve says as the hand finally abandoned it’s painful grip on Steve’s shoulder and Old Lady Strudwick putters around the kitchen, pulling out a jug of lemonade and shutting the fridge before Steve can get a good look.

He blinks, tells himself there wasn’t anything _floating in jars_ in there.

“You’re such a nice boy and these old bones can’t quite seem to keep up with the place these days.” She says as she places a glass in front of Steve, hobbling through the kitchen with stooped shoulders and a riot of grey curls.

She looks harmless. She _is_ harmless. Steve has no idea why he feels the urge to bolt, why the giant oven that takes up half the kitchen is taking up his focus and making his magic rattle around him like chains. He tries to curl into it, wrap his magic around him like a warm, soothing blanket but it doesn’t want to cooperate.

“I’ll just uh, get started?” Steve tries, wanting out of this house as soon as possible. Old Lady Strudwick might be a sweetheart, but Steve can’t help the case of heebie jeebies this place gives him. “I’ll see myself out.” He says and then _flees,_ exiting the house without touching his lemonade.

 

If Steve ever has to guess, he’d say that at least 50% of the plants residing in Old Lady Strudwick’s yard are poisonous. He sidesteps something red and angry looking with viciously sharp leaves and hops over something that spits a smoking fuschia goo all over the place. He nearly trips and falls down an endless hole when a patch of moss moves under his feet and tries to shove him that way.

This is what he gets for being nice.

It’s nearly sundown when Steve finds it, hours into wielding his gardening tools and magic to set the yard to rights. It’s a squirming little lump of a plant, a mess of vines, the biggest of which is no thicker than Steve’s pinky finger and the smallest as thin as thread. Steve doesn’t think before he runs his fingers over one of the vines, feeling the fuzz on the outside and letting the vines curl around his finger tips, up his hand, up his wrist.

It’s as he’s absently picking weeds from amongst the vines that Old Lady Strudwick descends into the yard again.

“Steven, darling, come in for dinner.” She says, gentle and warm like the world’s best grandmother, but there’s command to it, an edge of steel that makes Steve’s magic bristle and back away like a scared cat.

There’s smoke pouring from the chimney behind her and Steve thinks he sees an echo of the oven’s fire in her eyes.

“Thanks, but I think I’m gonna call it a night and head home.” He says, tries to be polite, even as for a brief moment he thinks Old Lady Strudwick face has flickered into something else.

 _‘The world is filled with many more magical things than just us us,’_ Steve’s mother had said when Steve was small and curious and learning the world, ‘ _Some of them are a bit scarier than us too.’_

“I insist Steven. You can’t just help an old lady out and not allow her to make you dinner.” Old Lady Strudwick says and Steve can’t not focus on the words _‘make you dinner._ ’

Steve’s magic rolls forward on instinct, shoving the old woman into a soft but somehow prehistoric looking lump of green. She shrieks and Steve attempts to bolt but there are still vines wrapped tight around his wrist that pull him to a stop.

 _Fuck it,_ fuck it, the thing is coming with him. He shoves his hand into the dirt, curls magic around it so that he can scoop down into the earth and pull the roots up and then he’s off, bolting across the yard and over the rickety fence.

Old Lady Strudwick follows, moving faster than her frail body would suggest but she stops at the fence and Steve doesn’t breath the sigh of relief he wants to as he crawls through the window into Sam’s old Toyota but it’s a very near thing.

Underneath the house, where earlier he’d thought there’d been posts holding it up, is what looks an awful lot like chicken legs. Steve blinks and the image is gone, replaced by the posts but he shudders, throws the car into the drive and takes off out of there like a bat out of hell. Or rather, like a college kid that was just almost dinner in a blue 1985 Toyota Camry.

The mess of vines is still clinging to Steve’s wrist, and it’s sort of _vibrating._ Steve lets his magic curl over it, tries to feel out of the thing might actually be evil because after the day he’s had he might just have some trust issues.

It’s not evil. Instead it radiates _happyandnewnew_ ** _new_** like a seedling would.

Steve huffs, lifts his wrist to squint at the plant and ends up snapping his gaze back to the road when he swerves in the process.

“Yeah, I’d be happy to get out of that place too.” Steve says and doesn’t relax until he’s across state line. This shit, _this shit right here_ is why he doesn’t go to _fuckin Jersey_. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this come yell with me on [tumblr ](http://im-notlookingback.tumblr.com/)


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